Art Imitating Life
by cowboy
Summary: A lonely fan of the show finds himself in Mulder and Scully's world (or is it Mulder and Scully find themselves in his world?). Oh, and there's a serial killer around. RR as you like, but please just RR. *i've gone and added an epilogue*
1. Another Day, Another Dollar

Art Imitating Life  
  
Chapter 1:  
Another Day, Another Dollar  
  
Jack Stannard stared blankly at the computer screen on his desk. Somehow he expected it to stare back at him. But no, the only reply was the soft humming of electricity being harnessed.  
  
Jack yawned. At 18, this internship at some Wall Street firm was a key to his future. At least that was what his parents told him. Over and over again. And yet Jack was laden with an ennui that one would more expect in a middle aged man. Jack needed something more in his life.  
  
Sure, Jack had partied and got around. But was this it? Was this really the road he'd follow? Somehow he'd always seen a different future.  
  
Jack prepared to indulge in some Mitty-esque fantasy.  
  
"Jack Stannard?" A husky, sexy voice asked from behind Jack, crashing his flight of fancy before it took even off.  
  
"Yeah," Jack replied, slowly swiveling around in his chair. "What do you-"  
  
He stopped as soon as he saw her face.  
  
The first thing he noticed when he saw her face was her blue/green eyes. They were akin to some precious stones, one minute dazzling sapphires, and the next deep green emeralds. Her dark red hair caught his attention next, the perfect frame on her light skin. Finally those deep red lips that seemed to be moving but Jack wasn't close to listening.  
  
" -Jack Stannard?" the sexy voice repeated, this time Jack hearing.  
  
"Bullshit!" was Jack's loud reply, attracting some attention from the desks closest to his; but just as quickly the brokers returned to their quest of riches.  
  
"Excuse me?" the stunned woman replied to Jack.  
  
Jack couldn't believe it. Here in front of him was Gillian Anderson, of X- Files (his favorite show) fame. When Jack wasn't at a party, he was watching the X-Files, a show that captured Jack attention because of its out of the ordinary style. It also helped that in Jack's opinion Gillian was one of the most beautiful women out there. But what the hell was she doing here?  
  
The husky voice regained some strength, "My name is-"  
  
"Gillian Anderson" Jack interrupted, "I know."  
  
"No," the voice was tougher now, "Dana Scully. I'm with the FBI."  
  
Jack couldn't believe this. Was this a joke his friends were playing? No, maybe it was his mind snapping. He had gone on a permanent flight of fancy, with no return back to the ground. Jack's face must've shown his enormous surprise.  
  
The voice was real tough now, though still with that sexy, husky accent, "Sir, I'd like to ask you a few questions."  
  
Scully pulled out a badge from within her black jacket. Jack paid no attention, his eyes lingering on the tight skirt that clung to her sides until it tapered of at knee length. Then his eyes traveled slowly back up her body, lingering at all the right spots. Finally his gaze stopped at her face, where it was returned. Her head was cocked slightly to the side, her lips slightly pursed, as if she'd caught Jack in the act a million times before.  
  
"Uh, yeah" Jack managed to say, blushing a bit at being caught.  
  
"Please follow me," the now icy voice said.  
  
Jack managed to get up out of his chair. The brokers closest around him looked away from their computers. They had caught the "FBI" part. But otherwise it was business as usual.  
  
Scully led the way past the rows of cubicles and desks strewn with papers. Jack still didn't believe what was going on. His gaze drifted again to the skirt clinging tightly to her backside. Jack bit his lip. This couldn't be happening. Could it?  
  
They left the field of desks and entered into a hallway that would lead to an elevator. Jack saw a fellow intern, Alex, walking towards him. As Alex walked by Scully he smiled and shook his head at Jack.  
  
"How the hell did you pull that off?" Alex whispered.  
  
Jack didn't have time to talk about it, he only asked, "Isn't that Gillian Anderson?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"You know, that chick from the X-Files."  
  
"From the what? Is that some porno?"  
  
Jack's disbelief was enormous. Hadn't it just been a day or two ago that they had discussed the X-Files (especially Anderson) quite in depth? He continued past a confused Alex.  
  
"Hey, Jack-" Alex continued.  
  
But Jack had already passed on to where Scully was waiting at the elevator. Scully turned to Jack, and her eyes focused directly on his. Jack was mesmerized.  
  
"Did you just say-" Scully cut herself off. The ice had melted.  
  
Jack looked at his tall reflection in the silver doors of the elevator entrance. His brown hair was slightly tussled from his sleeping on the commuter train, and his dark brown eyes had slight dark circles around them from his nights out late at clubs. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his long arms that (at least he thought) were a bit lanky.  
  
"Yeah?" Jack turned back to Scully, still in a state of wonder.  
  
"No, nothing."  
  
They waited in silence for the elevator. Scully impatiently brushed a stray red strand of hair from her face. Jack stared at her again. Damn, Jack thought, How the hell could I be so lucky?  
  
----------------------------- -----------------------------  
  
Hey, try to go easy on my story. It's my first time posting. I've started dozens of stories before, but some how I never get around to finishing them. I hope I manage to finish this one, I think it'll be pretty long. Thanx for reading.  
  
Whoops, forgot the disclaimer. The X-Files, and all characters from the show, belong to Chris Carter, 1013, Fox, etc. This is just a fan's story, I don't want any *trouble*. Peace. 


	2. Property of a Gentleman

Chapter 2:  
Property of a Gentleman  
  
The rain poured down, an unceasing wave from the heavens above. The Man flipped up the collar of his trench coat, a vain attempt against the elements. The rain angrily pelted his hair, flattening it to his head. The Man stopped at a newsstand and threw some bills on the desk. He picked up a newspaper, without even a glance from the owner inside.  
  
The Man walked purposefully to his car. People ran by to seek cover from the storm. The Man loved the rain. It brought life to the world below, and washed clean the streets of the City. He stopped in front of his Jaguar, opened the door, and slipped inside. Rained rhythmically pelted the roof and slid down the sides. The Man's soul was at peace.  
  
He opened the newspaper. The Man looked in earnest for himself. He hated the cliché of vanity that his hobby was known for, but he knew how very true it was. Ah, there it was, on the front page of the national section. Pretty good. He looked at the one picture they had concerning *his* article. It was the most recent sketch he had made copying from Mazzola's brilliant works. The Man could never evoke the same lust evident in the Master's renderings, yet the papers had taken to calling him the "Old Master".  
  
He liked that. But the fame was just a byproduct (though one he liked), just as the killing was simply a means to an end. Truthfully the Man wasn't sure what that end was, but he knew the sketching would lead him there. wherever there was. All the Man wanted was some answers, some piece of the Truth.  
  
But there wasn't time for that now. The Man had a bit of a commute to Connecticut. He needed some more inspiration.  
  
------------------------  
  
Jack noticed him right away. He was standing oddly around in the lobby; he didn't fit in with the rest of the hustling Wall Street natives. He seemed to be munching on some sunflower seeds. Jack walked over before Scully could lead him to Mulder.  
  
Jack offered his hand to Mulder, who looked a bit quizzically at Jack, then to Scully for some answers.  
  
"This is Agent Mulder," she said.  
  
"How did you know I was with Agent Scully?" Mulder inquired as he took Jack's hand.  
  
Jack didn't know whether he should just lie down the truth. Would they believe him (who was he kidding, this was *Mulder*)? No, there had to be a better time.  
  
"When you work around here, you learn to tell who spends their life searching for money," Jack lied, tempted to add 'not searching for the truth'.  
  
Mulder nodded his head, but he didn't fully seem to believe Jack's story.  
  
"We have some questions for you concerning a sketch your father recently purchased at an auction," Scully said.  
  
Jack knew all about his father's love of the Old Masters, but he personally didn't give a damn.  
  
"Well I think that he could provide you with better answers about that than I could, but he and my mom are on vacation in Australia. I wouldn't know what number to call him at."  
  
"So you're home alone?" Mulder asked, slightly mischievously.  
  
"Yeah, I've got the place all on my own."  
  
"Would you mind showing us the sketch?"  
  
"Hey, no problem. I'm just glad to help out. It's not everyday you run into the FBI. Let me just sign out of here."  
  
Jack had seen his boss walking by him. The arrogant looking bastard was trying to put his moves on a young secretary. Jack walked up to him.  
  
"Screw this. I quit."  
  
Then to the girl, "I think you could do a bit better. You certainly don't need a guy like this."  
  
Jack strode back over to Scully and Mulder. He caught her eyes. There was a little spark there, a glimmer of surprise. Jack had never liked his job, and he would have hell to pay from his parents. But now that he saw the quick reaction in Scully's eyes, he didn't give a damn how much shit he'd get in. Hell, there was nothing to lose. Jack winked at Scully. He just caught the playfully (or at least Jack interpreted it as playfully) surprised look on her face.  
  
As Jack walked by, Mulder smirked at Scully and shook his head. Mulder hadn't seen the wink, but he liked the balls this kid had to stand up to his boss like that. Mulder noticed to surprised look and arched eyebrows on Scully's normally 'skeptical' face. He was just going to ask her why, but she just shook her head and followed behind Jack. Mulder went after her.  
  
They walked out the revolving door into the pouring rain.  
  
------------------------  
  
The Man stared at the two lovers intertwined. He needed answers. This time, this sketch, he would have the answers. He had to get them. The Man was getting worried that he was getting drawn more towards the violence. He had to remember that the art was the most important aspect.  
  
The Man got up from the fine leather couch and walked across the huge living room. The room was large enough to have an indoor balcony. The Man shook his head. Ah, to live like Kings. But the Man knew enough about that. He saw a family picture on the mantle. The Man eyed the kid in the picture. Then he eyed the sketching. The kid was a pretty damn good match. That made things a lot easier.  
  
-----------------------  
  
Scully's laughter was like pure harmony.  
  
Jack had really turned on his charm in the car. When he really tried, he could get most girls to melt like sugar in his hand. It was just a natural feeling of ease that could emanate from him when he was 'on'. Maybe it somehow came as a reaction to the ennui that had gripped Jack's thoughts of the daytime. But as night fell, he could put on the magnetism.  
  
"He really said that to you?" she said.  
  
"I couldn't make up something like that if I wanted to," Jack replied.  
  
Stuck for three hours in a car (because of the traffic leaving the City) you either come to hate or love the people you're with. Luckily for Jack, he fell into the latter category with Scully and Mulder. He had gotten to talking about work, his family, friends. At first, it had seemed like babbling. But he knew what Mulder and Scully liked and disliked, and he knew what would interest them (his mind had flashed to Small Potatoes).  
  
Jack had been worried that he would act like a complete fool. Her beauty was *mesmerizing* up close, but that just made him turn up the charm even more. Mulder was a cool guy too. He was pretty damn funny. Jack found it hard to believe that the other agents at the FBI hadn't taken the time to see how Mulder and Scully really were. It was so much easier to brand them Spooky, Jack supposed.  
  
*Listen to yourself*. Jack was thinking like the show actually was reality. But it couldn't be, could it? But then who were these people he was in the car with? Who were that casual guy and that enchanting woman sitting just beyond him? Jack was going crazy, wasn't he? But it all seemed so damn real. He truly wanted to Believe.  
  
"Hey, is this exit off the Parkway yours?" Mulder asked.  
  
"Yeah, that's it right ahead."  
  
Jack wondered how they'd react to Greenwich. In this town, you were either rich, or you did work for somebody who was rich. The old 'have and have not' syndrome. Jack's family was rich (how the hell else could his father buy a sixty-five thousand dollar sketch at an auction), and he hated it. But Jack also understood the irony. He knew that he could only afford to hate his wealth because he had it. He was the just another rebellious spoiled kid, like from some cheap novel.  
  
The sedan went down the main avenue that cut through the commercial district of Greenwich. Boutiques, jewelry stores, and cafés lined the avenue.  
  
Mulder turned and looked at Scully. She returned his gaze with arched eyebrows. They knew a posh place when they saw it. Jack saw their glances. To have a connection like that with somebody, anybody, (well, Jack had a particular red-headed anybody in mind) had to be what Jack needed in his life.  
  
Jack's mind flashed back to hours earlier in the traffic.  
  
-----------------------  
  
"So, what exactly do you guys want with me?" Jack asked, surprised that he hadn't brought it up earlier. He had been so busy with his attraction towards Scully, he hadn't even bothered to find out what X-File he was now involved in.  
  
Mulder answered.  
  
"Have you heard of the Old Master?"  
  
Jack had read about the Old Master in the paper that morning. Some crazy guy liked stealing art, copying it using people he kidnapped as models, and then putting bullets in his 'models' heads. It was news, but somehow not interesting enough to warrant the front page (though Jack couldn't tell why).  
  
"Yeah, some serial killer with an affection for sketching, right?"  
  
"Exactly. And we think that he may be looking to steal the sketch your father recently purchased."  
  
This didn't seem like much of an X-File to Jack. But Jack realized that Mulder and Scully were assigned to normal cases too, depending on how the bureaucracy at the FBI spat out its instructions.  
  
"Why this sketch?"  
  
"We kept it out of the papers, but the killer targets only certain sketches. He prefers the work of Girolamo Mazzola, an Italian artist from the Renaissance."  
  
"Yeah, my dad just bought a sketch by Mazzola."  
  
"Then there is a chance that the killer will be tempted to steal this sketch as inspiration for his next murders. The killer has stolen from museums and private collectors before, but when your father bought one of Mazzola's sketches at auction last Tuesday -"  
  
"So this killer is after this sketch? Does he want anything with me or my family?"  
  
"Probably not, he tends attack random people that have no relation to the sketches."  
  
Jack knew Mulder's skills as a profiler. Hell, he knew everything about Mulder and Scully, things they might not have even known about each other. The one thing Jack didn't know about them was how far along in the show's history he was. Were Mulder and Scully still just good friends, or had they already become much more?  
  
Mulder went on, this time to Scully.  
  
"I think it's important that this guy focuses on erotic sketches of couples. He may be voyeuristically searching for some sort of love that he believes is beyond him."  
  
Mulder went on, but Jack was so busy thinking up something charming to say that he didn't pay attention.  
  
-----------------------  
  
Now Jack's house loomed in the distance. A white colonial-styled mansion, it seemed as impersonal as the other mansions that sat coldly along the street.  
  
Home, sweet home, Jack thought as they pulled into the driveway. Then he laughed in his head when he compared it to the episode 'Home'.  
  
-----------------------  
  
The Man heard them pull into the driveway. *Damn*, he didn't expect anybody else showing up. The masterful sketch still hung above the fireplace. The Man didn't have time to take it with him. He would have to deal with whoever was there. So the Man pulled out his revolver and stepped back into the shadows. The man again considered how unpleasant that killing was to him. But the smirk on his face belied his thoughts.  
  
----------------------- -----------------------  
  
Author's note(s)- Hey, its me again. I'm surprised I've gone this far already. By the way, Jack's world is completely made up from people I kind of know. I only wish I worked at a brokerage and had a mansion. Anyway, like I said, I think this might be pretty long, so thanx for reading. Peace out. 


	3. Ex Post Facto

Chapter 3:  
  
Ex Post Facto  
  
The rain had stopped, and a fine mist shrouded the damp air.  
  
Mulder stopped at the door. It wasn't locked. Strange to leave the drawbridge open on a castle like this. He looked back over his shoulder to Scully and the kid, who were walking up the walkway to the door.  
  
"Hey, do you usually leave the door open?"  
  
Jack didn't think he needed to lock the door; it wasn't likely anybody in the neighborhood would rob the place. They were too busy raiding peoples' pension funds to commit petty larceny. But the funny thing was, Jack had locked the door.  
  
"No, I thought I'd locked it."  
  
Mulder exchanged a glance with Scully. There was that connection again. Was it danger? Surprise? A glance like that between friends could speak volumes. It made Jack damn envious.  
  
"Wait here," Mulder said.  
  
He pushed back his trench coat and pulled his pistol out of its holster. No matter how many times Jack saw Mulder pull his gun, it always seemed a bit awkward. Jack smirked. But then the seriousness of the situation set in. It wasn't just a show, it was here, in reality. And in reality, you can end up dead.  
  
Scully pulled out her pistol, too. She stayed back to protect Jack. She brushed aside a stray strand of hair. Jack was again entranced. Here was this beauty in front of him, with gun drawn, seeming so strong on the outside, and yet Jack knew how vulnerable she could be on the inside. He didn't mind that he was the one being protected. After all, we all need to be protected sometimes.  
  
Mulder silently pushed open the front door. It was dark inside. Not pitch dark, but with the sun setting, shadows and light danced flirtingly about the room. No matter how many times Mulder walked into a dark and forbidding building, he was never sure what to expect. His steps creaked plaintively on the light oak floor. He had no idea where a light switch was, and he thought that even if he did turn on a light, it could scare off whomever was there. If it was the killer, and he got away and killed again, Mulder wouldn't be able to sleep for a long time. Sometimes it got real personal with Mulder, and this was no exception. Mulder heard the wood boards moan, and he stepped towards the noise and into the darkness.  
  
-----------------------  
  
Scully stared carefully into the inside of the house. Jack stared longingly at Scully. They both waited for Mulder.  
  
But enough waiting was enough.  
  
"Listen, Jack, I want you to wait here. I'm going to go in."  
  
"I'm going in too."  
  
"No, I want you to stay out here."  
  
Insistent. Tough. *Damn she was beautiful*. She wouldn't give in easily. But neither would Jack. On TV they never died, but this was the 'real' world, and in the real world, you could end up dead. And Jack was worried about what he might do if something ever happened to Scully.  
  
"I'm going in no matter what."  
  
She gazed into his eyes. Jack felt his knees buckle, but he held out his stare.  
  
"Fine. Stay behind me."  
  
Her small frame moved up before the door. She paused a moment at the edge, the shadows enveloping all but her red hair. Then she disappeared inside, her heels clacking on the floor. Jack silently followed his siren into the shadows.  
  
-----------------------  
  
They found Mulder staring at an empty frame in the living room.  
  
"He's not here?" asked Scully.  
  
"Neither is the sketch."  
  
Mulder paused.  
  
"He was here Scully. I swear I could feel somebody else in here. I just missed him."  
  
"We'll get him Mulder."  
  
Jack felt like he had to get a word in, to remind her he was still there.  
  
"It was just the sketch, wasn't it?"  
  
Mulder answered. "He didn't need anything else."  
  
Jack felt like Mulder needed to be alone with his thoughts for a moment.  
  
"Well, I'll check the rest of the place."  
  
Mulder wasn't listening. Scully had moved in towards him; they were close and talking in hushed tones. Alone again, Jack thought.  
  
-----------------------  
  
He wandered aimlessly through his house. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't really give a damn. He flipped light switches on and off as he walked through rooms.  
  
Damn, damn, damn!  
  
Jack's chest ached. He felt painfully hollow inside. He continued to wander until he found himself in the kitchen. Some booze would fill up the ache inside. Yeah, some booze would do it. Jack passed by the square island of slate in the center of his kitchen to the large, ornate cabinet where his dad kept the liquor. He saw a bottle of Johnny Walker out already. That would do nicely. Jack took a couple of hard swigs. It burned on the way down, but it helped numb the ache.  
  
Jack finally put down the bottle. He could hold his liquor, so he wasn't actually drunk. In fact, he almost felt calmer. But a dull ache still lingered inside him. He opened up the cabinet. His dad had been dumb enough to leave it open. Then Jack remembered that his dad had lost the key weeks ago. He looked closer at the lock. It was an old style skeleton key lock. There were scratches near the keyhole. The bastard had not only taken the sketch. He had even been drinking Jack's Johnny Walker.  
  
-----------------------  
  
Scully was looking for Jack. She had talked with Mulder and soothed his doubts, and now he was off calling in the reinforcements. Now she was looking for Jack.  
  
"Jack?"  
  
In a mansion like this, it was easy to get lost. Scully walked down a dimly lit hallway. She was just rounding the corner, when she tripped over a step she hadn't seen and started falling.  
  
Jack caught her. So close to her, Jack completely forgot about the ache inside him. She was a lot shorter than Jack, so her head was under his chin. He caught a whiff of her hair; there was a hint of some fruit shampoo, perhaps strawberry. Scully tilted her head back. Her face was inches from Jack's. For an instant Jack thought he had some connection as he was completely swept away in those two open gems. Then she stepped back, and straightened out her blouse and dress.  
  
She cleared her throat.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"No problem. It's gotta be hell running around in heels all the time."  
  
In the dim light, Jack couldn't tell if she was blushing or not.  
  
"Yeah, it is."  
  
The connection had just been in Jack's mind then. Hadn't it?  
  
"Well, I, uh, I've got something to show you."  
  
Scully followed Jack down another dim hallway toward the kitchen.  
  
-----------------------  
  
The Man felt tired. The cleansing rain from the dark gray sky above had ceased. Now all the crap of the world would be returning to the streets, especially now as darkness falls. The Man sighed inside his car. He put a jazz CD in the stereo. It was a cheap substitute for the rain, but he felt a little better. The Man had only the future promise of more sketching to look forward to. More answers.  
  
The Man was sitting in his Jaguar in the driveway opposite Jack's house. The car blended in perfectly among the mansions.  
  
The Man had booked out of the house (with Mazzola's work) as soon as he'd seen the tall cop with the gun. It would've been easy enough to off an unarmed guy, and he could've even taken a cop, but it wasn't his situation, it wasn't on his terms. Most men draw lines, lines they will not cross no matter what the price. The Man had crossed his Rubicon long ago, and there was no looking back.  
  
And now he'd found the other model. The redhead would fit nicely. He would take her and the kid. Then he would have all the answers.  
  
----------------------- -----------------------  
  
Mazzola is a real Renaissance artist. He's got a sketch up for auction at Christies in London for 60 - 80 thousand pounds. Don't worry about a Scully/Jack romance. I think the story'll end up (relatively) realistic in the end. Hope to add on soon, Your pal, the author 


	4. What The Night Isn't For

Chapter 4:  
  
What The Night Isn't For  
  
The other agents arrived quickly enough. They set off a perimeter around Jack's house, and began dusting the place for prints. In the living room, silver lights flashed as agents took pictures of everything around. Shaking his head, Special Agent in Charge David Parks wasn't too happy with Agent Mulder.  
  
"Why didn't you call for some backup?!! Things could have gone down real ugly!"  
  
Mulder looked a bit depressed already, since he felt the killer had gotten away on his account. He wasn't even willing to defend himself.  
  
As much as he envied Mulder for his relationship with Scully, Jack wasn't vindictive. Scully was in the kitchen with examining the scene, and there was nobody else to defend Mulder. Mulder didn't deserve to get chewed out by some agent with delusions of grandeur.  
  
Jack spoke up. "Hey, he had no time. We just missed the killer as it is. At least he was able to catch the guy by surprise."  
  
"Who the hell is this kid?!!"  
  
Jack went toe to toe with Parks.  
  
"This is my place. That was my sketch," Jack said, stretching the truth a bit, "And I think you should be damn thankful that I found that bottle."  
  
Parks and Jack eyed each other closely. Jack went on.  
  
"I think you should be damn thankful that Agent Mulder here, was willing to put his life on the line to catch this killer."  
  
Jack's eyes flashed pure ice. Parks broke off his stare with Jack and turned away. He stormed off to take out his anger on some other unfortunate agents.  
  
Jack shook his head, "What a douche."  
  
Mulder smiled. The kid did have a set of brass ones.  
  
-----------------------  
  
They met Scully out by the car. Darkness had fallen, with only the faintest hint of the orange orb disappearing over the far horizon.  
  
Scully spoke up.  
  
"I don't think its safe for you to stay here. We don't know if the killer will come back to the scene of the crime."  
  
Mulder had recovered his spirits.  
  
"No, Scully, I think that he's already on the move again. I think he's already looking for new 'models' in his next sketch. He won't surface again until we find a pair of bodies with bullets in their heads along with his own sketch of one of Mazzola's works."  
  
"Well, we still can't leave Jack here." Then to Jack, "Do you have anyplace to stay?"  
  
Jack had friends, sure. They would stay at his place to party, but Jack doubted if they would ever really return the favor. It was tough to really know who your friends were ('Trust No One" Jack ironically thought). And Jack's closest family lived in California. Jack had never realized how alone he really was.  
  
"No, I guess I don't really have a place to crash."  
  
There was that glance between Mulder and Scully again. The ache came back into Jack's chest.  
  
"Well, you could stay with us," Mulder offered.  
  
Jack certainly had no objections.  
  
"Hey, thanks a lot."  
  
"Its no problem."  
  
"Let me just get some things."  
  
Jack couldn't believe his luck. A night with Mulder and Scully. Jack walked back into the house thinking of all the charming things he would say that night. Maybe he still had a shot with her after all.  
  
-----------------------  
  
Darkness shrouded the land.  
  
The Man sat still in the car, next to the masterful sketch. He saw the tall cop, along with the redhead and the kid, come out of the house. Then the tall cop and the redhead got into a car while the kid went back inside. The Man smiled. It would be soon now.  
  
Then a BMW pulled into the driveway and stopped alongside the Man's car.  
  
Crap.  
  
A balding, tired looking man stepped out of the car. He stared at the Man in his Jaguar.  
  
"Who the hell are you?"  
  
The Man did it all in one fluid motion. He wrapped the revolver tightly in a cloth, opened the car door, stepped to within feet of the balding man, and shot him once in the face.  
  
The balding man crumpled in a pile on the pavement. The Man looked over his shoulder at the kid's place. Nobody had noticed him. Darkness didn't just shroud the land; it shrouded peoples' minds.  
  
The Man heard the car with the agents start up, and he saw the kid had come back out with a duffle bag. They were leaving together. That would make it all easier. The Man quickly shoved the body at his feet underneath the BMW. He was getting sloppy. He hadn't had time to get rid of the whisky, now he didn't have time to get rid of the body. Ah well, when he made his next sketch, then all would be better.  
  
-----------------------  
  
They arrived back in the City an hour later. Jack was back to his old charming self.  
  
"Well the truth is, I think there's a cabal that runs *everything* behind the government's back. You guys are in the FBI, you must know these things."  
  
Jack had said the first part sarcastically, and Scully smiled. Mulder just shook his head.  
  
"Listen," Mulder replied, "at the end of the day, you'd be surprised how little we really know. At least when you take a look at the big picture."  
  
Scully could tell Mulder was poised to leap into the abyss that was conspiracy theories, and she cut him off when she saw their hotel.  
  
"This is it, Mulder." She turned to Jack, and said in a low voice, "Don't let him get started."  
  
Jack smiled. She smiled back. Mulder just shook his head again.  
  
-----------------------  
  
They stayed in separate, adjoining rooms (did Jack expect anything else from Mulder and Scully?). The hotel was a standard moderate-priced chain building, but still pretty fancy compared with the motels Mulder and Scully normally ended up in.  
  
But after all the work they've done for the Bureau, Jack thought, didn't they deserve a little in return?  
  
Mulder had offered Jack his bed.  
  
"I can sleep on the foldout."  
  
"No, really, its fine. I'll sleep on the foldout."  
  
What Jack didn't say was that he'd rather be sleeping in Agent Scully's room.  
  
Mulder and Jack walked through the connecting door into Scully's room. She was wearing her glasses and typing at her laptop. She looked so concentrated on her work, Jack thought. *Such a hard worker*.  
  
"I'm gonna go out to the field office," Mulder said, "there are some notes I want to pick up."  
  
Scully looked up from her work and removed her glasses.  
  
"Sure, Jack and I can order some room service," she said looking to Jack and smiling.  
  
He would be alone with her. Jack tried to conceal his elation.  
  
"Yeah, sure, that sounds great."  
  
"I ought to be back in an hour or so," Mulder said as he walked out the door.  
  
Scully picked up the phone.  
  
"So, what do you want?"  
  
Jack bit his lip. If only she knew what he really wanted.  
  
-----------------------  
  
Now it was Jack's turn to laugh.  
  
"He really *gnawed* on the coroner?"  
  
"Oh yeah. He had forgotten to bring another set of *fangs*, so he couldn't actually drain the blood."  
  
Jack knew the story. He knew it by heart. It was one of his favorite episodes. But when he heard it again from Scully's mouth, it felt like he was *really* laughing for the first time in his life.  
  
They both sat around the coffee table in the center of the room, eating the pizza that they had agreed to order.  
  
Jack was still wearing his khakis and his blue dress shirt, but he had taken off his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of the shirt.  
  
"Sounds like you work on some pretty interesting cases, Agent Scully."  
  
"Well, we don't exactly get your run-of-the-mill cases at the FBI."  
  
She paused, as if thinking.  
  
"And you can call me Dana."  
  
"Dana," Jack repeated.  
  
Thunder cracked outside, punctuating Jack's statement.  
  
Scully looked to the sliding doors before the balcony.  
  
"Looks we're going to get more rain."  
  
She turned back to Jack. Jack took her in. Her red lips were slightly pursed. The first couple of buttons on her shirt were opened, offering the most tempting of hints. Her red hair stood out in the dim light cast by the lamp on a far table. A slight smile covered her moist lips (Jack was drawn to them again). And those open eyes of hers, they drew Jack in like a moth to a flame. What Jack didn't realize was that the closer moths got to flames, the more they got burned.  
  
Jack moved in close to Scully. He couldn't hold in his urge to kiss her any longer. He moved in smoothly, coming in real close to her. He cocked his head a little to the side, his eyes locked into hers. Then Jack moved in to kiss Scully. Dana.  
  
She turned her head away.  
  
"Listen, Jack."  
  
He pulled back quickly, like he had been burned on a stove. *No, No, No!* It was going all wrong!  
  
"I'm flattered. I really am-"  
  
Oh God. Here it came.  
  
"-but I'm not really looking for-"  
  
God no.  
  
"-any relationship."  
  
Jack felt like he had fallen off the edge of the earth.  
  
"You're a nice kid Jack-"  
  
Jack swallowed hard. He was running out of air.  
  
"-but something like this wouldn't work out."  
  
Jack got up.  
  
"I'm sorry," Jack mumbled, "I'm sorry."  
  
He stood up and staggered into the adjoining room.  
  
"Jack?" Scully called out.  
  
He shut the door behind him. The ache in his chest was so painful he could barely stand it. He took one breath. Now the anger welled up inside him. Not a Scully, God, he could never be angry at Scully. Jack was fuming at himself. What a fool he'd been. What a damn stupid fool.  
  
Jack rammed his fist into a wall. It wasn't like in the movies. It just bounced off and hurt like hell.  
  
Jack needed some air. He couldn't stay so close to her, and yet be so far away. He left.  
  
-----------------------  
  
Scully had been flattered. She really had. The kid *was* charming, not to mention pretty cute. But wouldn't have worked out, and she wasn't looking for a relationship. It wasn't just on account of Mulder. He was just her friend. She just really wasn't looking for a relationship right now.  
  
She got up and knocked on the adjoining room's door.  
  
"Jack?"  
  
She opened the door. Nobody was there. Poor kid. She didn't think of herself in a sexy way, but Jack had obviously been affected. Scully actually felt bad. He must've taken it pretty hard. Poor kid.  
  
Scully sighed. *Maybe, maybe, in another place, another time.*  
  
-----------------------  
  
Mulder had been on his way back to the hotel when the rain came down. It came down with a vengeance. He had been walking, and he needed to get out of the rain. He saw the neon lights of a strip club. *Well, well*. He hadn't been to one in a long time. What, a week? Mulder was sure Scully and Jack would be fine without him. He stepped in out of the rain.  
  
-----------------------  
  
"No, I refuse to believe that-that our lives our some sort of public spectacle."  
  
Jack had come back. He had told Scully everything. *Everything*.  
  
"I refuse to believe that we're on display weekly to the world."  
  
Jack still wanted her. Even after being rebuffed, standing here, witness to her skepticism, Jack still wanted her.  
  
"Listen, I can understand if you were looking to try and impress me. But making up some crazy story isn't going to do it."  
  
She stormed out of his room. Those last words really stung Jack. He didn't even hear a knock on the door. Finally he walked over and opened it up.  
  
-----------------------  
  
The Man smiled.  
  
"Room service."  
  
"I don't think we ordered anything else."  
  
"Probably not."  
  
The Man hit Jack over the head with his revolver, and Jack fell to the ground.  
  
The last think Jack thought before he blacked out was: *Didn't I see this in Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose?* Then he was out.  
  
----------------------- -----------------------  
  
So, what do you think? Getting interesting? Sorry this one's so long. By the way, this chapter's title is a rip-off of the London play Gillian Anderson was in. I also tried to sneak episode's titles into the story (ex/ One Breath, and Darkness Falls-from the previous chapter). Hope to get up the next chapter soon, your best bud, The Writer 


	5. Preso

Chapter 5:  
Preso  
  
They were gone. Oh God, *she* was gone. He had lost her. The kid, too. He had let her down; he had let himself down.  
  
No, no!  
  
How had he let it happen? He should've seen it, he should've known! But no, he had been off enjoying himself, off being a fool! And all the while the killer had taken her. Right under his nose! What a fool he'd been! What a damned fool!  
  
He had lost her before, and it had hurt him. God it had hurt him. If any thing happened to her. he didn't know what he would do to himself.  
  
Mulder sat in his room, holding his head in his hands. Agents went through the room around him. SAC Parks stormed up to Mulder.  
  
"You damn fool!"  
  
Mulder looked up.  
  
"This is all your fault!"  
  
In a cold rage Mulder got up and struck Parks. He fell onto his back. The other agents froze.  
  
"I'll have your badge for this!" Parks sputtered out, as Mulder left the room, "I'll have your badge!"  
  
Mulder didn't care. He had to find them. *Her*. He knew Parks was correct, that it *was* all his fault, but that bastard didn't care about finding anybody. Parks was only looking to add a star to his name. Mulder just needed to find her. He needed to know it would all be all right.  
  
Oh God, she was gone.  
  
-----------------------  
  
Jack blinked in owlish incomprehension.  
  
Who the hell was he? Where the hell was he? What the hell was going on? The room was dimly lit, and it seemed rather bare of any furniture. A large down bed was along the far wall. There was somebody in it. Jack peered through the darkness. Red jumped out at him.  
  
Scully.  
  
It all came rushing back into Jack's mind. A flurry of images rushed back at Jack. Some bad, some good. Jack thought of Scully. Some very good. But then he remembered how he had been turned down. Damn! He should've seen it coming. He should have remembered 'Never Again' and 'Milagro'. *No one loves Scully and gets away with it*. Well almost no one. But now Jack would still try to save her. Just where the hell was he?  
  
Jack tried to stand up. He realized his hands were cuffed behind his back. Still woozy from the blow to his head, Jack tried to find his footing. He failed, and fell back against the slate wall behind him. It was numbingly cold. Jack felt a chain running along the handcuffs. So he was chained to the wall. Maybe if he-  
  
He heard a moan. Scully.  
  
"Scully?"  
  
Another moan. What the hell had the killer done to her? Jack felt his blood rising to a boil. If she was hurt. Jack strained against the chain. He strained until he felt the handcuffs cutting into his skin. A rivulet of blood dripped down his hand to the floor.  
  
Drip. Drip. Drip.  
  
The sound of the blood echoed through the room. Jack stopped his straining. His chest heaved from the struggle.  
  
The door in the wall to Jack's right swung open. Jack peered into the light that streamed into the room. It hurt his eyes and he turned away. The Man stepped out from within the heavenly bright light and into the darkness. He carried some packages under his arm. The Man closed the door.  
  
"Evening."  
  
Jack stared coldly at the killer. The Man stared almost jovially back.  
  
The Man shook his head, "Oh come, come. Do I really look like that much of a monster?"  
  
"No, just an everyday nobody," Jack replied.  
  
"Ha! How many nobodies have the FBI after them?"  
  
"Any idiot can take a life," Jack replied coldly.  
  
"Ah, but can they sketch like I do?" the Man laughingly replied. *This kid putting up some tough front*. It really amused the Man. And how could he be in a bad mood? After all, soon he would have some answers.  
  
The Man opened a package. He took out a hypodermic needle.  
  
Jack coldly watched the killer, "What did you do to Scully?"  
  
The Man heard the tone of the kid's voice. And he had used the redhead's name. *There was some backstory there*. The kid and the agent. the Man shook his head, it just got better and better. If there were something there, something between the two, then the Man would certainly learn the Truth.  
  
"Everyone dies, kid. Everyone. Even the best of men. Maybe especially the best of men."  
  
The Man chuckled at a thought.  
  
"And women."  
  
-----------------------  
  
Mulder had been pouring through all the notes at the field office. His was weary for lack of sleep. But that didn't matter. Finding them only mattered.  
  
"Agent Mulder?"  
  
Mulder looked up from the desk and saw another agent.  
  
"Phone call for you."  
  
Mulder picked up the phone.  
  
"Agent Mulder, this is Agent Holly Rice, back at Stannard's house in Connecticut."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"We traced a print from the Jack Daniels to a Jimmy Frist, 21, who lives in the Hudson Valley."  
  
21- that seemed too young. It wouldn't be him.  
  
"SAC Parks has been notified and is on his way up there with a team. But we just discovered something else. A body under a car in the driveway across the street, with one gunshot wound to the face."  
  
Across the street. the killer had been watching them as they left. *How could I have been so wrong*? Then something triggered in Mulder's memory, something he had seen in the when he had arrived at the hotel with Jack and Scully. It had been right behind them. He had seen it parked again when he had left the hotel after hitting Parks. A Jaguar.  
  
-----------------------  
  
Jack woke in Scully's arms. Her eyes were lightly closed, the lids slightly fluttering. She was wearing only a black lace bra and panties. In sleep she was an angel, her soft pale skin glowed a heavenly white. Jack looked down her body. She looked so. -no-no-no! This was all wrong! Jack tried to turn over, but his body replied incredibly slowly. He realized he was only in his boxers. The killer must've drugged him- but he couldn't remember clearly.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye Jack saw him. He was seated on a stool, with a sketchbook in his hand. An easel with Mazzola's sketch on it stood next to him. The Man didn't notice Jack had woken up. He was too busy in his mind piecing together the beauty before him, and studying how Mazzola's work matched their erotic embrace so perfectly. But in the back of his mind the Man somehow knew that that he would never have the Truth. He would have to go on killing forever.  
  
In Jack's head it all happened like he was in a dark room with a bright strobe light.  
  
Jack heard the door burst open. He saw a tall figure's silhouette in the bright light. Then he saw Mulder step forward with a gun ready.  
  
"FBI! Hands up! Now!"  
  
Jack saw a brief look of surprise on the killer's face. Mulder only saw the Man's back. Then the look of surprise passed, and the Man's face was blank.  
  
"Please don't shoot," the Man said meekly as he rose, "I'll go quietly."  
  
Jack saw the man's hand disappear into his jacket, only to reappear with a revolver. The Man glanced over his shoulder at the tall cop. *He has no idea what's coming*. Then the Man coolly put the gun to his shoulder and fired into it.  
  
Jack had watched it all mutely. He tried to say something, anything, but his voice wouldn't cooperate. He witnessed the bullet pass through the Man's shoulder and strike Mulder in the collarbone. Mulder's gun discharged into the ceiling and he fell back into the doorway. His body seemed cut in half, as half lay in the blinding light, half in the room's darkness. Jack heard him coughing hard.  
  
The Man stumbled forward a bit, and then fell next to the bed. He clutched the hole in his shoulder with his right hand, and held the gun in his left. His breath came in sharp, short intakes. Jack saw a wild instinct in his eyes. He saw the Man try to raise his gun again. Jack had to do something. He tried to move, but the drugs still had him woozy. But he had to move. He had to do something.  
  
Jack strived to move with all in him. Slowly he neared the bed's edge. The Man's back was to him. Jack saw a few of the hypodermic needles sitting on the smooth cement floor. He stretched and managed to reach one. He felt incredibly tired, but he picked a needle up.  
  
"Bad men die too."  
  
The Man turned to face the voice, and Jack swung the needle into his left eye, and injected the drugs inside. A primal cry escaped the Man's lips, the revolver fired into the floor, and the Man fell writhing to the floor. He convulsed wildly on the floor, his head banging it repeatedly. His body arced into the air. Then all the motion stopped. His body lay still on the floor. There would never be any answers for the Man. Not ever.  
  
Jack heard Mulder still coughing. It was a horrible noise. But he felt so very tired now. He rolled over to Scully's warm embrace. He saw her eyelids flutter open.  
  
"Jack?" she softly whispered.  
  
Jack smiled. This had to be heaven. Then all was dark.  
  
----------------------- -----------------------  
  
I hoped you enjoyed this story. I figure on maybe adding an epilogue, if anybody wants one. Sorry its taken me so long to add this chapter, but I was on a bit of a vacation. BTW the title of this chapter is Italian for "Taken". And the "owlish incomprehension" line I stole from Huxley's 'Brave New World'. Anyhoo, thanx for reading this little story,  
  
Sincerely yours, Me (the writer) 


	6. Epilogue: The Morning After

"Hope is a waking dream." Aristotle  
  
Epilogue:  
  
The Morning After  
  
Jack held Scully in his arms. She felt so damn good. He felt her soft curves, her soft texture, her soft down insides-  
  
Her soft down insides?  
  
Jack opened his weary eyes. He stared at a white ceiling. Morning light drifted in through a large window above his head. Jack shut his eyes and opened them again. The morning light burned into his mind. His head felt like it was waging a savage revolt against his body, and losing.  
  
Jack sat up in the bed. There was no Scully, only a pillow in his arms. Jack saw a room service menu on the night desk. So he was in a hotel. His temples throbbed in response to his thinking. Had Jack partied last night away and ended up here. Had it all been- just a dream?  
  
Oh God. Was it just a dream? Even with all that had happened, Jack still wished with all in him that it had been real. *God, it had felt so real!* Jack looked around the room. It had some fancy furniture. A posh hotel. Jack sighed, and he felt an deep ache inside his chest. He felt so alone.  
  
A ringing phone split into Jack's head like an axe. Jack picked it up.  
  
"Hello?" Jack's voice sounded hoarse.  
  
"Jack! Where the hell have you been?!!"  
  
It was his dad.  
  
"I got a call from the office saying you stormed off yesterday! What're you thinking? This is your future! I tried your cellphone-"  
  
Jack stopped paying attention. The voice just became a loud background noise. Had he been fantasizing and quit his job, then gone out and gotten wasted? Was he so crazy that he made up things in his mind? The more Jack thought, the stronger the ache in him became. Alone.  
  
Eventually Jack hung up. He stood up, and fell back into the bed. *Note to self, stand up slowly*. He successfully tried it again, and managed to stumble over to a mirror on a wall behind a desk. He didn't look so bad. If you didn't count his face. Jack tried to brush his hair with his hands into some orderly shape.  
  
He sighed. Alone. A note on the desk caught his attention. It had some phone numbers and an email on it. Which chick had given Jack this? Then Jack caught the name at the bottom of the note.  
  
Dana.  
  
*What the fu-*  
  
There was a knock on the door. Jack, dazed, stumbled over and opened it up. Scully stood there.  
  
"Hey Jack. You feeling better?"  
  
Jack numbly stared.  
  
"You don't look that good," she said, cocking her head a little, "maybe a hospital would've been better than putting you up in here."  
  
Jack managed to crack a goofy smile.  
  
"I, uh, I, uh- sorry I'm not fully dressed." He was in his boxers.  
  
"I noticed." Her eyebrows arched.  
  
Jack blushed a crimson red.  
  
She continued, "Come on, Mulder wants to talk to you at the hospital. He's doing a lot better, now. Thanks to you."  
  
Jack went back into the room's bathroom and pulled on his old clothes.  
  
He walked to the hallway where Scully was waiting. He thought of having friends like Mulder and Scully. He smiled. Maybe he wasn't so alone after all.  
  
----------------------- -----------------------  
  
So that's my story. Hope you liked this ending. I actually liked it better than some of the chapters. I like to think I've got a bit of Jack in me: the charming attitude, the disarmingly good looks, the obsession with a certain red-haired agent- whoops, I've said too much! ;-) Anyhoo, I've got another story coming out, so I'm gonna work on that, thanx for reading this far,  
  
- from Me, (the incredibly charming writer) 


End file.
